The Misfortune of Ron Weasley
by Random.Is.Best
Summary: Super random crackfic. This just popped into my head when Arthur said what his nickname for Molly when no one else is around was in Half-Blood Prince. Ron can't sleep and hears something going on downstairs. He goes to investigate and hears what no kid wants to. I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters.


Ron sighed as he stretched out on his bed in the Burrow and tucked his hands behind his head as he stared at the dark ceiling. He couldn't wait for the next day. He, along with his father and the twins, were going to retrieve Harry from the Muggles so they could attend the Quidditch world cup. He had always dreamt about attending this-although in his fantasies, it was the Cannons playing instead of Bulgaria and Ireland, but they'd do.

The clock couldn't move fast enough. He thought Hermione's arrival would make the time go faster, but since she wasn't allowed in his room to stay up late and talk with like Harry was, it wasn't much of a remedy. A grimace overtook his features when he thought about what staying up late and talking with Hermione would be like. He imagined it would just be about plans for school, what the next year had in store for them, her hopes for the classes...his stomach flip-flopped at the thought. He didn't want to think about any aspect of school when there was a Quidditch game to think of.

He closed his eyes. If he fell asleep now, the time would hurry up and pass. A giggle interrupted his intentions of sleep, and his eyes flew open. It had to be past one in the morning. His father had arrived home only an hour before, bolted down a quick dinner, and the whole family-those who hadn't already gone to bed-trudged up the stairs to their bedrooms. Who would still be awake? As quietly as he could, he crept out of bed, careful to not step on any creaky floorboards or alert the ghoul in the attic of his awakened state. He paused when he heard a noise from the floor above his head, but after a moment of silence, continued out his door.

He knew he was just being stupid. It was probably just Ginny and Hermione staying up late, but if it was, what could they possibly be giggling about? Although the more he thought about it, the more it sounded like a woman's giggle than a teenager's. Did someone sneak someone home?! His heart fluttered in his chest. This was his chance to finally have some blackmail to hold over someone.

He descended the stairs, listening hard at every door he came to and carrying on when each produced no results. He finally paused when he reached his parents' door. It couldn't be coming from there, could it? And if so, why would they be giggling? He pressed his ear against the door as hard as he could to make out what the whispered voices were saying.

"Say it again."

"You're beautiful, Mollywobbles."

Another giggle. Ron's eyebrows furrowed. What kind of a name was that? While it was quite ridiculous sounding, he couldn't fathom why it'd be giggle-worthy. He focused his attention back on the conversation at hand.

"Oh...dear, don't stop that."

"Stop what, Arthur?"

A pause and a whispered moan. "That."

Ron's eyes widened, and he instantly turned a brilliant shade of green. He didn't want to hear this. Anything but this. He whirled around on the steps, crashing down on them in his attempt to flee the scene. There was silence behind the closed door which led to frantic scrambles and the sound of his mother shushing his father frantically in a hissed whisper. Ron pulled himself quickly to his feet once more and bolted up the stairs, catching a glimpse of his father opening the door and sticking a tousle-haired head out to see who was there as he whipped around the corner.

His heart pounding at a million miles a minute, he burst through the twins' door and shut it behind him, leaning against it as he tried to catch his breath. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed, and he couldn't go back to his own room, fearing he'd just be able to hear things again once they resumed after their interruption. The twins hadn't even noticed that he had entered the room yet. They were both tucked into one bed, the blanket pulled over their head as they whispered to one another.

"Oy! What are you two doing?"

There was a frantic scramble to hide something, and George flipped the blanket down, sitting up and eyeing their little brother suspiciously, Fred following suit as soon as whatever he was holding was properly hidden.

"You look kind of peaky. What's wrong with you?" George asked, pulling his feet up as Ron crossed the room and perched on the bed.

"You aren't sick or something, are you?" Fred followed, leaning back into the pillows he had just propped up against the wall. "If you are, get out of here. Go to Percy's room and get him sick so we can all be free from hearing about those damn cauldron bottoms. I swear if I hear about one more leaky cauldron bottom…"

"No, I mean, yes, I mean—" Ron cut himself off with a sigh and looked between his two older brother's desperately for help. "Not the ill kind of sick, but the I just heard something really really awkward and I wish I hadn't kind of sick."

"Ah, you're referring to the display going on downstairs, are you?" Fred said with a grim smile. "Yeah, we've heard it too. Talking tunes it out though."

"But they're—I heard—I was right outside the door!"

While George cracked a smile—most likely picturing the scene in his head—Fred arched an eyebrow and cocked his head at Ron. "You do realize that they have to have done that at least six times, right? When you've got seven kids, two of which are twins…you tend to have to do that."

"Yes, I know you have to," Ron replied dully. "I'm not an idiot, you know." He emitted an angry noise when the twins shared a pointed look. "But just because I know what…they had to do…doesn't mean that I want to hear it!"

George stretched out on the bed and yawned, forcing Ron off the bed as he moved his feet back down. "Consider it a rite of passage. Every kid has to hear their parents doing that or walk in on it at some point. How old were we, Fred?"

Fred glanced up at the ceiling in thought, twirling a stray string of the blanket around his finger as he did. "We weren't in Hogwarts yet; it was a couple of years before that. So maybe eight or nine?"

"I really don't need to know about this, but thanks anyway," Ron interrupted over him, feeling around for the doorknob behind him. Once he pulled the door open, he shot out of the room without so much of a good night and hurried back up the stairs. When he was safely in his room, he shut the door and dove back into bed, hiding his head under his pillow. He doubted that any sleep would come to him that night or that he'd ever be able to get that experience out of his memory. He also knew that he wouldn't be able to look his parents in the eye for a good week at the very least.


End file.
